


The Ferryman

by spinner33



Series: CM - Season One [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch is injured during a chase, and Reid comes to his rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ferryman

One minute, Hotch was tearing across the meadow landscape in hot pursuit of the fleeing suspect. Morgan was closer, and he would undoubtedly reach Colin Ames first, but that didn’t stop Hotch from trying. He focused on the back of Colin’s blue teeshirt, watching it jolt up and down as the unsub ran for all he was worth. Morgan’s dark gray shirt was gaining. No matter. Morgan was covering ground even faster than Hotch was, legs pumping, feet barely touching the ground. Aaron’s chest was aching. It made Hotch by turns jealous and proud to watch his fellow team mate closing in.

There was a sudden, sharp, jarring change of scene. Hotch was falling. A sharp pain grabbed his right knee. Darkness enveloped him. He was disoriented by the fall, and then by the stop. He felt wet. He felt dizzy. Stars of intense pain swarmed over him. It hurt to take a breath, but he breathed, once, twice, slowly. The pain eventually eased.

He faded in and out of consciousness for what felt like no more than a few seconds before there was a hand on his shoulder, a light in his eyes, someone calling his name from above. 

“Hotch? Hotch?!”

Aaron reached upwards, grasping a thin arm, a slender chest.

“Gideon! I found him,” Reid shouted above Hotch. A radio crackle garbled Jason’s reply. “Gideon?”

“What’s your location?” Gideon demanded a second time.

“We’re in the underground caverns. I found an entrance a quarter of a mile from where Hotch fell through. The series of limestone chambers lies under the field between the two forests. The passage itself twists around though, and the actual distance traveled to reach him was approximately three quarters of a mile.”

“What’s Hotch’s condition, Reid?” Gideon demanded more sharply. 

“He struck his head falling through the hole. Right hand injured. Right knee injured. He’s coming around, but he looks dazed. No obvious signs of critical trauma aside from the head wound. I would rather not move him unnecessarily though.”

“Stay with him. I’m going to get help,” Gideon ordered. 

"Understood," Reid answered.

“ ‘m fine,” Hotch mumbled.

There was a patch of grayish light far above Aaron’s head. If he squinted, he could make out the rim of the hole through which he had fallen. Reid leaned into the triangle of overcast light, and pushed Hotch’s hair out of his eyes. Hotch was starting to get his bearings. He was lying on his back, splayed across the middle of an underground, trickling brook of very cold water, which was soaking him through to the skin. He felt undignified and stupid. He attempted to push himself up on his elbows and hands, but Reid stopped him. Spencer gently straightened Hotch’s legs for him, moving his limbs as carefully as possible while managing to keep Aaron on the ground.

“I’m all wet,” Hotch moaned in discomfort, attempting to push himself up again.

“Be careful, sir. Let me help you,” Spencer pleaded, easing both arms around Hotch, lifting him under his hips. Reid edged Hotch sideways slowly and carefully until he was lying on dryer ground. Being in a position where he needed help did not sit well with Hotch. He didn’t harbor any kind of resentment for Spencer – that wasn’t it at all. They were friends, and Hotch respected Dr. Reid very much. But for the slight, younger man to be shoring him up made Hotch burn with embarrassment.

“I’ll be fine. Let me catch my breath,” Hotch grumbled.

“No, you are not fine. Lie still,” Reid insisted. Pain shot through Hotch’s right leg when he moved it. He winced, may have even whimpered. He disguised the sound in a grunt of annoyance.

“What happened?” Aaron asked.

“You fell twenty feet through a hole in the soil and grass which was overgrown. This area is riddled with underground waterways which over time have cut through the soft limestone and porous rock substrata, creating these underground caves and streams. Heavy rains and flash floods have carved passages large enough for a man to walk through.”

With Reid’s help, Hotch wriggled further back from the brook and up onto dryer rocks. The exertion was making Hotch pant, and making him dizzy. Reid was next to him again, rummaging around in his ever-present satchel. Spencer retrieved a travel pack of Kleenex, and removed several tissues. He cupped his hand under Hotch’s chin, gently turning Aaron’s head to one side. Hotch winced as Reid dabbed the back of his skull. The tissues came away soaked in blood. So the wet feeling running down Hotch’s neck was not necessarily water, he realized.

“It’s blind luck you fell on the brook,” Reid babbled. “Good luck though. The silt and sand served as a cushion. I don’t think it was the fall that hurt you. You were too large to make it through the opening without banging parts of yourself on the way down.”

“I’m all wet,” Hotch repeated grumpily.

“Are you cold?” Reid asked. Hotch nodded. Reid slipped out of his own jacket and wrapped it gently around Hotch’s chest and shoulders. “Can you tell me your name?” Spencer murmured.

Hotch glared hard at him.

“Goddamn it, Reid, I know my name. Quit screwing around. Help me up so we can get out of here,” he snapped. Spencer hesitated for a moment, then straddled Hotch’s thighs and loomed over him.

“You will remain seated until I determine it will not harm you to move about. Is that understood?” Reid said firmly. Hotch pushed at Reid’s hips to dislodge him, but the wiry young man was stronger than he looked. “Listen to me. You’ve struck your head. You have a laceration on the back of your skull. You injured your right wrist in the fall – it may be sprained but I do not believe it is fractured. You have injured your right knee, but I believe I can use my scarf to bind the wound. If you have suffered a concussion, you may feel groggy or nauseated if you attempt to move too quickly or too much.”

“Get off. I’m fine,” Hotch protested again. Reid stared down at him, and did his very best to look stern.

“Hotch, if you were in my position, would you allow me to stand and roam about without first assessing the full extent of my injuries?” Reid asked.

“Of course not,” Hotch pouted, thinking if the tables were turned, he would simply lift Reid and carry him to safety.

“Gideon?” Reid said, lifting his radio and hitting the talk button. “Gideon? Are you there?”

“I’M HERE, REID!” Gideon bawled loudly in reply. Both Hotch and Reid winced back from the speaker. “HOW’S THE PATIENT?”

“Combative,” Reid answered. He could hear Morgan bark a comment in the background but he couldn't make out the words -- something like 'not surprised'.

“HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO ASSESS HIS CONDITION?” Gideon asked.

“Serious but not critical. He needs medical attention for his right knee and hand, and for a skull laceration. Why are you shouting?”

“HELICOPTER! WE’RE HEADED OUT TO BRING BACK A MEDICAL TEAM. YOU TWO ARE GOING TO NEED TO SIT TIGHT UNTIL WE’RE BACK!”

“I’m all wet,” Hotch complained again.

“I believe Hotch has a concussion,” Reid added.

“WE’RE FLYING OUT TO BRING BACK THE CLOSEST MEDICAL RESPONSE TEAM. SIT TIGHT.”

“How long?” Reid asked.

“AN HOUR, TOPS,” Gideon replied.

“Sir, in one hour it will be past 8 p.m. There is a 75 percent chance of rainstorms in the area for the evening.”

“SIT TIGHT, REID. WE’RE ON IT!” Morgan called out. Reid grimaced but made no verbal reply. He shut off the radio.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. Reid tucked the radio away and moved off of Hotch’s hips to sit by his side.

“It’s all right,” Reid soothed.

“I know you hate the dark,” Hotch motioned around with his left hand. Reid shivered.

“Not my favorite thing, but probably the least of our worries. Gideon was lying to us about the time frame,” Reid said quietly, dabbing the back of Hotch’s head again. “The local response team in a town of this size is unlikely to be equipped with the necessary medical supplies or training for an emergency extraction of this type. They would need to rely on the nearest, larger metropolitan area, or depend on the state authorities for support. Considering the fact that the Virginia state authorities are currently concentrating all their resources on the search for Colin Ames’ missing children, including every available air and ground search and rescue team, it’s highly unlikely that they will be able, or even willing, to pull those resources in order to come get you. They have an emotional investment in rescuing the Ames children, who are believed to be in extreme jeopardy. You are an outsider, and an adult only in medium distress. They will not hurry, believing that because you are not in critical condition, that you will be able to get yourself out of this before they arrive.”

“Thanks for the cheery news.”

“I should have lied to Gideon about your condition. It would have generated a greater sense of urgency on their part.”

Hotch blinked in surprise at Reid's chilly assessment of the situation.

“Stop fussing. Give me a couple minutes to pull myself together,” Hotch murmured.

“The spot where I entered into the underground cavern is approximately quarter a mile to our west, but the actual travel distance is…”

“Three-quarters of a mile. I heard you before.”

“The entry point is a flat wash with small pebbles and sand, but the drop-off is almost instantaneous. The caves descend sharply from the entry point. In other words, we will have to climb up to exit where I entered. We cannot stay here. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have move you regardless of your injuries.”

“Reid, we’ll be easier to find if we stay where we are.”

“You don’t understand. When it rains, it pours,” Reid replied, pointing upward.

“What?” Hotch mumbled.

“There’s a 75 percent chance of rainstorms tonight.”

“Yes. I heard you before. We’re underground. We’ll stay dry.”

“Hotch, if it rains above us, the water will undoubtedly come down through these passages, most likely overwhelming them with run- off and debris. That’s why the passages are so large. They’ve been scoured over time by heavy rains.”

Hotch groaned, “That is not good news.”

Reid snorted softly, “No shit,” while shining his flashlight on the back of Hotch’s head again. “The longer your wound remains open, in this damp, unclean environment, the greater the risk of infection. If I’m going to be dragging you through mud, muck, and pestilence, bat guano, crayfish nesting grounds, etc., I need to close this wound. With your permission, I have a sewing kit in my bag.”

“How bad is it?” Hotch blinked at Reid and lifted his left hand to touch the back of his skull. Maybe it seemed worse than it actually was, but when Aaron’s fingertips traced his scalp, the opening there felt jagged and enormous. The first twinge of fear jetted through his veins. He shivered and dropped his left arm again.

“I’m going to set you upright. Can you hold the light for me?” Reid asked. He dug around in his satchel again and withdrew a small, plastic case. He gave it to Hotch to hold, and Aaron thumbed the tiny package with his left hand. Two foam fingers had different colors of thread wrapped around. There was a large needle and a couple smaller needles. There was a tiny, foldable pair of scissors.

“Do you always carry….” Hotch began to ask. Reid laughed softly, anticipating the question.

“Luckily for you, I had a button pop off yesterday, which necessitated purchasing the repair kit from the hotel lobby.”

Reid hesitated for a second about invading Aaron’s personal space again, but then leaned down over Hotch and helped him sit upright. Hotch waited for the waves of nausea to pass, concentrating on the flashlight that Reid put into his left hand – the texture of the ribbed grip, the rounded tip, the cold metal. Was he imagining the droplets of water falling from above? He looked up. Reid followed suit.

“Great……” Reid whined. He caught himself quickly. “Don’t worry,” Spencer added, patting Hotch’s shoulder.

“I’m not worried,” Hotch lied quietly.

There was an unexpected gentleness to the way Reid moved, fingertips touching the wound, brushing through Hotch’s bristly hair as he cleansed the area. Aaron winced as he felt the first poke of the needle.

“You know, I do have a roll of duct tape,” Reid murmured. 

“What’s that?”

“No. Nevermind. Not a practical solution,” Reid dismissed the thought as if talking to himself and not to Hotch. “I would have to remove the hair on either side of the wound for the tape to take a good grip on your skin. Nevermind. Stitches would close the wound much more efficiently, at least until a real medic can have a look at you.”

Aaron jolted when he felt another poke.

“Wish I had kept those honey packets from lunch. Darn it. I’ll remember that next time,” Reid muttered. 

“Honey?” Hotch questioned.

“Honey has natural antiseptic properties. Please stop moving your head. Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Spencer whimpered. “Would it distract you to talk to someone? Would that take your mind off of it? Do you want me to call Haley?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” Hotch groaned. “ ‘You did what? How in the world did you manage to do that?’ “ Hotch whispered, mimicking Haley’s annoyed voice as he closed his eyes. “We were supposed to go to dinner with her parents tomorrow night. She’ll think I did this to avoid going.”

“Maybe talking to Haley isn’t what you need at the moment. A disagreement would raise your blood pressure, make you anxious, tense, angry, irritable. Stop moving your head.”

There was another poke, another wince of pain. Reid was trembling almost as much as Hotch was. Aaron was watching Spencer’s face, how his mouth was pulled tight together as if he could feel the pain he was causing. Hotch wasn’t the one who needed distracting—Reid was!

“Where did you learn how to do sutures?” Hotch asked.

“By watching medical examiners finishing autopsies,” Reid replied. Hotch shook with uncomfortable amusement. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That was a dreadful attempt to be funny, in order to put you at ease. Basic first aid is part of every cadet’s training. I took a few extra courses,” Spencer added nervously.

“Do you think Morgan was able to apprehend Ames?” Hotch asked.

“Yes. The speed with which Morgan was overtaking the suspect would have led to apprehension in less than three minutes, provided he was not distracted when you yelled and vanished.” 

“I didn’t yell,” Aaron protested.

“You yelled a profanity and dropped through the ground.” 

“I did not,” Hotch argued.

“It was the particular profanity which caught my attention,” Reid insisted.

“I did not yell.”

“I thought you had twisted your ankle, but when you did not reappear, I knew you had gone through a hole.”

“What did I say?”

“I suspect if you had been walking, you would have had time to spot that the grass was growing over the hole, but since you were running, focused on the object ahead and not looking at the ground below….”

“What did I say?” Hotch worried.

“Shit. You usually only curse when you’re exceptionally vexed. I don’t understand why you followed when Ames bolted away. Morgan had the situation well under control.”

Hotch gave Reid a withering glare. The young doctor’s Bambi- brown eyes darted sideways, and he could feel the hostility building in Hotch. Reid returned his attention to Hotch’s wound, and unwisely continued speaking.

“Perhaps I do know what was going through your mind. It bothered you that Morgan would nab the unsub before you could. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, sir. It’s understandable that you will begin to slow physically as you age. You should not place so much of your self-worth on whether or not you can keep up with Morgan. You compare yourself to him as a gauge of your masculinity, your continued desirability as a mate and a man, but you shouldn't, because you and he are two completely different types of men. Morgan prefers to be judged based on his physical prowess and the reputation of his sexual conquests, but I suspect you would prefer to be judged based on your strength of character and sense of justice. Besides, he’s eight years younger than you are, and he’s got an athletic background in…..”

A hand dropped into Reid’s lap, and he inhaled in pain and surprise. It wasn’t so much that Hotch had managed to grab Reid with his wounded right hand, but where exactly Hotch had grabbed him that had quieted Reid so quickly.

“Shut up,” Hotch rumbled as he leaned his forehead against the side of Reid’s skull. His brain was dancing around, trying to decide if Reid had been insulting him or complimenting him.

“ ‘kay,” Reid breathed with a soft grunt. It didn’t help that Reid wanted so badly to smile. He could appreciate the irony of the moment – how many times had he longed to be alone in the dark by his SAIC? He had fantasized quite often about Hotch’s rich, velvet voice in his ear and those strong hands all over his body. Not exactly in this fashion, but one should always be careful what they wish for.

“For the record, it doesn’t bother me that Morgan is younger, faster, and more athletic than I am,” Hotch growled as he let go. Reid gently pushed Hotch backwards and turned his head sideways again. Reid snipped the dangling needle and thread from Hotch’s head, folding the scissors away before tucking the kit back into his satchel.

“REID?!” the radio crackled loudly. Reid jumped in surprise. 

“We’re here,” Spencer answered after fumbling for the radio.

“IT’S GOING TO TAKE LONGER THAN I THOUGHT!” Gideon shouted. “WE’RE IN THE AIR, AND ON THE WAY, BUT YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER.”

“Affirmative,” Reid replied, his mouth a tight line. 

“HOW’S HOTCH?” Morgan asked.

“Bitchy,” Reid answered. Hotch poked him roughly in the ribs. “We are going to meet you at the entrance to the caverns.”

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID HOTCH SHOULDN’T BE MOVED WITHOUT A BACK BOARD,” Morgan answered.

“We’ll meet you on the topside, if we can,” Reid replied.

“MOVE HOTCH ONLY IF YOU WON’T CAUSE ANY FURTHER INJURY,” Gideon stressed.

Reid lowered the radio, staring across to Hotch, who was still pouting in the darkness, radiating moody discontentment. The hole above them was dripping wet now, raining steadily down on them.

“Would you rather drown or risk being paralyzed?” Reid asked with a small head tilt. He waited patiently for a reply. Hotch wondered again if his teammate was kidding. He narrowed his eyes at the young man. Reid lifted the radio and pushed the button to talk. “We’ll meet you topside,” he said with a tiny, self-satisfied smirk.

Reid pulled his scarf off, shuffling downward and lifting Hotch’s right ankle in order to straighten out his leg. Aaron bellowed with pain and took a half-hearted swipe at Reid. Spencer unhitched the second sidearm under Hotch’s trouser leg, handing it to him. Hotch slipped the second gun into his interior jacket pocket. Reid untangled the ankle holster, and lifted it to the beams of the flashlight.

“What?” Hotch asked.

“I can use this to stabilize your leg,” Reid said, moving back to his knee.

“You’re pretty good at this. Did you ever consider going into the medical field?”

Reid grimaced, shaking his head. “No, but I will confess to having medical-related sexual fetishes.”

“You should stop trying to be funny,” Hotch replied, watching Reid pick up the dark blue muffler he had been wearing.

“You should stop flashing me in the eyes with that light,” Reid answered bluntly. “May I borrow your penknife?”

“How do you know I have a penknife?” Hotch asked, putting the flashlight in his numb, throbbing right hand and fumbling in his left trouser pocket for the article in question. He opened the blade and gave it to Reid handle first.

“I know everything you've got in your pockets,” Reid replied, accepting the small knife. Regret washed his face, then he carefully notched a cut in the top of the scarf before ripping the thin cotton apart in two long stretches of material.

“Prove it,” Hotch challenged, accepting the knife back. He folded it and put it away again as Reid wrapped half of the scarf around Hotch’s swollen right knee, stabilizing it from below with the appropriated ankle holster.

“Penknife, office keys, car keys, wallet, pocket tablet, a Staples brand black stick pen, a Glock 17, a Glock 26, no change – you put that in the ask-jar on the counter at the diner where we stopped for lunch. Pity. If we don’t get out of this, you’ll have no coin for the ferryman.”

Reid paused, fished in his own pocket, and put several silver coins in Hotch’s right hand.

“You know, Reid, that’s sorta creepy,” Hotch replied. Reid shrugged.

“Inappropriate humor often helps diffuse the overwhelming, uncomfortable tension in a frightening situation. Put the coins in your pocket, just in case. I don't want you wandering for all eternity on the wrong side of the River Styx,” he advised.

“Thanks. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But that's not everything that's in my pockets. What about the breath mints?” Aaron asked, putting the change in his jacket. Reid tilted his head again, narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward.

“Side left jacket pocket. Spearmint Altoids. May I have your right hand, please?”

“How can you tell that??” Hotch asked, eyes wide with amazement.

Reid wrapped the remainder of the bisected scarf around Aaron’s right hand and wrist. “It’s not rocket science. I saw you munching on them right after you put your change in the ask-jar, and you have minute traces of tell-tale white dust under your fingernails.”

Reid slipped back into his suit jacket, and positioned himself to lift Hotch up to his feet.

“Do not try to stand on your own. Let me help you. We’ll go slowly,” Reid promised, getting under Hotch’s right arm and wrapping both arms around his chest in order to pull him to his feet.

The world spun, and the ground grabbed Aaron’s knees. Reid was the one to shout though.

“Hotch! I said lean on me, not fall on me,” Reid said between gritted teeth, rising slowly upwards again. Hotch tightened his grip on Spencer’s slim shoulders, and doubted the sanity of this idea.

They made slow progress along the uneven terrain. The flashlight bounced around, then dropped, facing the far wall. Hotch panted, closing his eyes. It hurt more than he could say to put weight on his right leg. He felt Reid kneel down, reach around his leg, refitting the gun holster. Aaron gripped a hand through Reid’s hair, pulling harder than he meant to pull. Reid hugged Hotch’s thigh, reaching up to pound on his chest.

“Hotch, let gooooo….” Spencer complained. Aaron let his fingers slip out of Reid's hair. “I’m sorry, but we have to hurry. Hang in there, okay?”

Hotch wondered why they couldn’t simply sit down and wait here, but the answer was lapping at his ankles, bubbling now where before it had been but a trickle.

“I hate being wet,” Reid murmured, standing up and wrapping his arms around Hotch again, stabilizing his frame, nestling hip to hip again. He stretched Aaron’s arm, keeping a grip on his hand. “Did you ever do three-legged races as a kid?” Reid asked. Hotch concentrated on the young man’s voice, turning slightly right to see Reid sticking the end of the flashlight between his teeth, only to pull it back out again. He was giving Reid a glare he hoped conveyed that he was in no mood for small talk. Reid understood. He gave a hint of a smile before biting on the end of the flashlight once more.

By the time they had gone half a mile, the water was lapping at their shins, making it that much more difficult for Hotch to move. It was like walking through quicksand. It dragged at his shoes and trouser legs.

“Do you need to rest?” Reid asked. Hotch nodded wearily. Reid leaned him against the nearest wall of rock, and helped him slide slowly down to the gritty, unstable ground. Sitting in the water was making Hotch frown.

Reid held the flashlight in his mouth again, and Hotch tried not to notice those beautiful lips stretched around the implement. He realized how inappropriate his thoughts were, but it was not the first time he had considered how that mouth might feel wrapped around his own implement. Reid’s thin fingers readjusted the Velcro hold on the ankle holster that was wrapped around Hotch’s leg below his wounded knee.

The expression on Reid’s face changed from concern to fear. Hotch instantly realized why. Either Reid was sinking, or the water had begun to rise at a horrifying rate. Flash floods – Hotch knew – could strike without warning, and could be exceptionally deadly, especially in an underground cavern or a culvert. The fear on Reid's face was quickly taken over by determination. He shot up, stuck the flashlight in his shirt pocket, and folded his jacket over the top of it. It shone dimly through the material. He reached under the water and hoisted Hotch to his feet by his belt, shoving him against the wall and getting up against him.

“Take a deep breath. One, two, three.”

Hotch inhaled but let go of the breath to scream as Reid yanked him suddenly off the wall and forward into the now waist-high water, still holding him firmly by his belt.

“Don’t try to walk!” Reid shouted. “Let me pull you! Hotch! Lift your feet!”

Reid pulled, and Hotch followed, clinging to one of Reid’s shoulders with his injured right hand, and pushing off the wall with his left. They made it another few feet when the unthinkable happened – Reid could no longer keep his feet on the ground either. Hotch could feel the water continue to rise. They began drifting sideways. Hotch knew what was coming next. He braced himself barely in time. They crashed backwards into the side wall. Reid shouted in pain. Hotch exhaled and inhaled, feeling water in his mouth, coughing, choking. Reid pushed Hotch forward away from the wall, then Aaron was being pulled along again. They turned a corner, and the water picked them both up, shoving them into the next wall. Another turn, another wall—Hotch was losing his bearings.

A solid surface bumped Hotch’s shoulder and the back of his head. Stars swam around his brain. He wasn’t sure if it had been the wall or the ceiling. They came up again. He couldn’t focus on the flashlight that was glowing dimly inside Reid’s jacket, because watching the bouncing light was making his stomach churn. Hotch heard splashing, and he heard Reid take a deep, deep breath.

Hotch inhaled again too, barely closing his mouth before he was pulled back under the forceful current.

The grip Reid had on Hotch’s belt was unbreakable, but nothing compared to the grip Hotch had taken onto the thin man’s torso. He had a bad feeling he was clinging to Reid with his arms and his legs now. He could feel every long-legged kick as Reid struggled to propel them along against the tumult of water that was all around them. Hotch straightened out his legs and did his best to kick and push as well, hoping they were moving forward and not backwards, but it was so difficult to tell in the rushing madness around them.

They rose again, with only inches to spare, taking a damp breath almost against the very surface of the rocks. Something clutched around Hotch’s head, in his hair, struggling, struggling. He could feel a racing heart against his neck, but he wasn't willing to let go of Reid to figure out what had clutched onto him. He could only hope the current carried it away.

A shocking flash of lightning ahead caught Hotch’s eyes, lit the water they were in. It was not Reid’s flashlight. They headed instinctively in that direction. Hotch was helping Reid scramble ahead, pushing off of any possible solid surface that presented itself – wall, floor, ceiling. Reid went downward, then propelled them both upward towards the darkness. Another bolt of lightning lit the opening ahead.

Reid grabbed the back of Hotch’s waist and dragged him towards the surface. The heartbeat on the back of his neck scrambled away and was gone. What was Reid standing up on? Reid flailed around wildly for a moment or two, shaking, screaming. Several little somethings skittered out of the water around them both, and took to the air.

Bats? Hotch's brain regurgitated a dreadful, horrible scenario, imagining bloody bites, rabies shots, and eventual madness. Reid squealed loudly and twitched around, shaking his satchel to let another unintended passenger loose.

Hotch scrambled on hands and knees, in spite of the protests from his right hand and leg, pulling himself across the wash of pebbles and sand. It was a ramp of sorts, he realized, even as the water pushed him back downward. Reid was there again, getting a tight grip around Aaron’s chest under both arms. The young man groaned out as he dragged Hotch upwards, fighting against the water every step of the way as the powerful, swirling current was tugging at Hotch’s legs, washing around them. Even as he was going under, both mentally and physically, Hotch understood this was the worst possible time to pass out on Reid.

Hotch opened his eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling rain drops pelting his face. He was on solid ground – wet, grassy, muddy ground. Frightened brown eyes were above him, lit by the flashlight on the ground on Hotch’s shoulder, and by the lightning rolling above them in the sky. Lips pressed over Aaron’s once more. He wondered if Reid was giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Aaron pushed at the form above him, taking another deep breath.

Reid sat down next to Hotch, laughing, coughing, almost crying. Spencer wriggled out of his wet jacket, throwing it up around his shoulders in order to tent himself over Hotch, keeping the rain from falling in Aaron's face.

“Good news or bad news?” Reid breathed against his cheek. 

“We’re out?” Hotch asked.

“That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Hotch rasped.

“I dropped the radio,” Reid admitted hoarsely, showing Hotch his ripped jacket pocket.

“Cell phone?” Hotch offered hopefully.

“Soaked. Yours and mine both. No good,” Reid replied, tugging at the handle of his satchel which was squelching and dripping. “I don’t mean to rush you, but we should find better shelter.”

“Thank you,” Hotch coughed, pulling himself into a seated position. His head pounded angrily, but that seemed to be the worst of what he felt. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“You’re welcome,” Reid answered, getting under Hotch’s right side and lifting him to his feet with an anguished grunt. He patted Hotch’s stomach and complained in his ear. “Do me a favor. No more double chocolate sundaes for dessert if you expect me to drag you around like this again.”

“Okay,” Hotch laughed softly. “Guess the ferryman will have to wait,” he observed dryly. Reid smiled this time.

They hobbled across the field towards the shapes in the distance that Hotch hoped was a stand of trees. His theory was confirmed by the next bolt of lightning which lit the sky and crashed into the distance as a multi-forked shudder of light and noise. Reid wailed in annoyance, and Hotch wondered why for a moment until he felt it too – they were now being pelted by hail stones.

“Yeah, sure, beautiful! Thank you so much!” Reid howled in impotent anger at the sky. They hobbled faster towards the trees. Hotch realized that Reid’s back was bleeding lightly from several small wounds. He paused, turning him sideways, staring him up and down.

“What happened to your back?” he asked.

“I hit the wall a couple times. Or it might have been the ceiling."

"Might have been the bats too," Hotch offered grimly. Reid shuddered violently.

"Let's hope not. But if I start craving insects, and want to sleep upside-down, we'll know the answer,” Reid breathed as he eased Hotch down onto the ground with their backs to the trunk and roots of a large tree. The limbs and leaves above offered a begrudging shelter of sorts. Hotch tipped sideways against Reid when the young man tumbled down too.

“Here, lie down, sorry,” Spencer urged. He pillowed Aaron’s head on his lap, putting his jacket over Hotch's shoulders.

“Thank you,” Hotch whispered, shuddering, suddenly so very tired, in spite of the rain and the noisy thunder, and the annoyance of the hailstones. He lay with his head in Reid’s lap for a moment or two before he smiled again and asked, “Hey, is this the part where we huddle up to keep warm, get naked together, and fall in love?”

Reid blinked down at him, a brief look of panic on his face before it registered that Hotch was kidding. A façade of calm returned to Reid’s blushing face.

“In your dreams, Aaron Hotchner,” Reid murmured, rubbing Hotch's shoulder briskly to warm him up.

Aaron grinned ghoulishly. "Haven't I always heard that the worst place to seek shelter during a thunderstorm is under a tree? Doesn't this increase our risk of being struck by lightning?"

Reid stared down at Hotch and raised one brow. "The odds are against you being able to fall down a hole and land in an underground waterway, let alone the odds of you getting struck by lightning. The odds of you being able to do both in the same night? Virtually impossible. So, I think we'll be safe."

"But it could happen," Hotch pressed wickedly.

Spencer snickered as he leaned his head back. "It could happen," he admitted. He closed his eyes as waves of relief and exhaustion washed over him. Bruises were beginning to show on Reid’s neck and shoulders, through the material of his drenched shirt. Had Hotch been holding onto him that tightly? Aaron felt horribly guilty.

“Don’t worry. They’ll find us soon,” Hotch offered, working up enough optimism that he almost sounded believable.

“I hope so. How fucking far did they need to go to get help? Honestly,” Reid replied, coughing roughly. He picked up Hotch’s bare, swollen right hand, and caressed his wedding ring for a moment before he tucked the hand under the jacket to keep Hotch warm. The temporary wrapping must have come off under the water. Hotch wondered if the one on his knee was there. He was too tired to look down and find out. “Try to rest for now,” Reid murmured, closing his eyes again.

The sound of helicopter blades woke Hotch sometime later, as did the police search lights which pooled over the two of them. It was akin to being up drunk late on Friday night and going to the minimart for munchies – that horrible, artificial brightness which cut through your brain like a hatchet blade. The two choppers put down in the field in front of the trees. Hotch wondered if the weight of the air crafts would open any more holes in the ground. Reid watched the metals birds put down, and made a face at Hotch. He appeared to be thinking the very same thing, that it might not be such a good idea to be landing there.

Medics scrambled out and pulled them apart, lifted Hotch one direction and Reid another. Hotch was laid out on a stretcher, and they swarmed over him as he pushed back, trying to keep his eyes on Reid. Spencer was suddenly surrounded and overwhelmed by Gideon and Morgan and Elle as well. Hotch was shivering, fighting, wanting Reid back by his side again.

“Why did you drop the radio?!” Gideon was howling angrily. “Jesus Christ, Reid!”

Elle pulled a blanket around Reid’s shoulders, scrubbing her fingers through his hair. The young doctor looked like a drowned rat. Morgan pushed him towards the first waiting helicopter, not even bothering to hide his concern. As he was climbing inside, Reid glanced back, frantic for a glimpse of Hotch. Aaron smiled faintly when their eyes met, and Reid nodded and smiled to him before allowing Morgan to shove him up into the passenger seat.

* * *

If Hotch had had his way, he would have been back to work the next day, but unfortunately the doctors had other plans. So it was a week before he was back at Quantico, braving the brief second of panic as the elevator doors closed and took him down to the BAU offices.

The silver doors parted. It was early enough that no one should have been there yet. Except it never worked out that way, did it? Someone was certainly already there. The smell of fresh coffee filled Hotch’s nose, made his stomach grumble and his heart pound with happiness and nervousness too. A glance at Reid’s desk showed stacks and stacks of files lined up, along with three or four old books. Fresh coffee and old books – Dr. Spencer Reid couldn’t be far away.

Hotch walked up the ramp towards his office, his badly-banged right knee complaining every step of the way. He set his attaché by his desk. It was interesting to Aaron how his teammates would mimic his own emotional reticence. Knowing that overt drama and showy displays of affection would only embarrass Hotch, they would act accordingly. They would all be happy to see him back, but wouldn’t run up to him and bear hug him, or smack kisses on his cheeks.

A large plate of chocolate cookies waited in the middle of Hotch’s desk – evidence that Penelope Garcia had been up early baking for him. Oh man. They were still warm. Hotch slipped his fingers under the plastic and drew one cookie out, savoring the crisp texture and warmth and flavor with each bite.

A fresh stack of files waited on the left side of his desk – not in the inbox but on the desk blotter – evidence that JJ had been there, and she knew that Hotch would want to get right down to business when he arrived.

The elevator doors binged, and Morgan came bouncing out – his display of affection and appreciation was being early this morning instead of invariable waiting until the last second to arrive. This extra bit of diligence did not go unnoticed. Hotch waved hello, and Morgan raised a hand in reply before hurrying to the coffee pot.

The final report on the Ames case was on Hotch’s computer stand, a gift from Gideon. Hotch picked the page up and nodded to himself. Morgan had already filled him in on the wrap-up. The Ames children had been recovered, unharmed but scared shitless, because after watching their father beat their mother to death with a baseball bat, they had spent two days alone in an isolated cabin in the woods while the police and FBI had been chasing their father (literally). Ames would be going away for a long time for the murder of his ex-wife, but at least the children had survived. Hotch’s eyes went to Jack’s picture on the shelf behind his desk, and he allowed himself a small smile.

Hotch pulled out his chair and went to sit down. There was a book in his way – The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook. He picked up the volume and glanced towards the door as he heard someone clear their throat. Reid was there, sniffing softly. He was battling a cold thanks to their underground adventure.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said. “Coffee?”

Hotch didn’t have time to answer before Spencer plunked a heavy blue mug down and hurried back to the door. Hotch knew before taking a drink that it would be the perfect cup of joe fixed exactly how he liked it. He scratched the back of his head -- the stitches were gone but not forgotten.

“Thanks,” Aaron called. Reid paused, and Hotch waved the book at him. “Very funny,” he added.

“Not me,” Reid replied, looking innocent in spite of the smile that sprung up. He masked it with his own mug of coffee, shyly retreating to his desk once more.

Hotch sat down behind his tidy desk, and he held the book a moment longer before setting it in his inbox. He doubted very much if there was a passage on surviving flashfloods in subterranean caverns, but he would find out later. It must have been from Elle then? Hotch decided it would make for good bathroom reading, and that he would take it home tonight. He lifted his eyes to watch Reid sipping coffee and fiddling around with his own files. Hotch couldn’t help but wonder what manner of mischief the doctor was up to. He also couldn’t help but wish Reid had stayed in the office so they could talk a moment or two longer.

While Aaron was out, Reid had called every day to see if he needed anything. Haley had taken to sitting on the couch with Hotch when Spencer would call, though Hotch wasn't exactly sure why she would want to listen to them talk about open cases, the symbolism of caverns in myths and folklore, old vampire movies, and negative rabies tests.

Aaron opened his top desk drawer, and recoiled in surprise when he found a large pair of flippers stuffed inside. His chair tipped over backwards, banging the floor. Morgan laughed out, and reached over to poke Reid on the shoulder.

“Hotch? You okay?” Spencer called out. Hotch pulled himself upright, and clicked his intercom on his phone.

“Very funny, smart ass,” he murmured, ignoring his right knee as it bitched and moaned.

“Oh, you found them? You’re welcome,” Reid replied. “By the way, you swim like a wounded manatee,” he added.

“Yeah, but I swim far better than you shoot,” Hotch rumbled in reply. He was rewarded with a chuckle from Reid.

Hotch was grateful for the tender teasing. He much preferred this instead of giving free reign to the tearful words of gratitude that had clogged his throat every day for the last week. He had spent too much time on the couch, feeling sorry for himself, staring at daytime tv, wondering how in the world he was going to face Reid when he got back to work. Talking on the phone with him had helped ease the process. But that tumble of grateful words was still lodged in Hotch's brain. He studied the swim fins again. Of course they were the right size, and his favorite color too. Reid was so damned eager to please, and so well equipped to do so, capable of remembering every throw-away detail that others would ignore or miss entirely.

Gideon appeared, tapping on the door.

“JJ left some cases for you,” Jason said. “Taking up swimming?” he asked, eyes twinkling as he saw the flippers. Hotch smiled for a second and shook his head no. He offered Gideon a cookie, and Jason politely refused. Hotch took another cookie, straightened his chair, and nosed through the folders in question. ‘Murder never sleeps’, he sighed to himself.

“Get everyone together in the conference room. I'll be there in a moment,” Hotch promised, flicking a glance at all three folders before stacking them in order of importance.

“BAU team in the conference room,” Gideon called out.


End file.
